


Leave Out All The Rest

by secretfeanorian



Series: Feanor's mind is a dark place and Feanor and Fingolfin are doing not-brotherly things [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (technically Feanor is already dead...), M/M, featuring Feanor talking to Fingolfin from beyond the grave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1526951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A: All elvish is translated at the end of the story.<br/>B: Pardon my lack of medical knowledge. I have tried to keep scenes involving Maedhros’ injuries as short as possible to make this less obvious. Feel free to correct me on any problems you see. (in this and any others) Warnings: There is a very brief (very brief) mention of Russingon (Fingon/Maedhros) that can be completely ignored. The moment of Fëanolfin (Fëanor/Fingolfin) is less easily ignored, but it still can be.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Leave Out All The Rest

**Author's Note:**

> A: All elvish is translated at the end of the story.  
> B: Pardon my lack of medical knowledge. I have tried to keep scenes involving Maedhros’ injuries as short as possible to make this less obvious. Feel free to correct me on any problems you see. (in this and any others) Warnings: There is a very brief (very brief) mention of Russingon (Fingon/Maedhros) that can be completely ignored. The moment of Fëanolfin (Fëanor/Fingolfin) is less easily ignored, but it still can be.

A clap of thunder shook the make-shift settlement violently and Fingolfin couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through his body. Instinctively, he rose to find Fëanor, than restrained himself. Fëanor was dead. And even had his half-brother not passed on, he wouldn’t want anything to do with Fingolfin.

The host had arrived in Arda, and settled on the opposite shore of Lake Mithrim than the fëanorians. It had taken months - almost a year - for any sort of communication to come between the two groups and Fingolfin had planned for a confrontation with Fëanor, and then nagging until he was either kicked out or he figured out what had happened.

When they were greeted by an exhausted Maglor, not Fëanor or even Maedhros, Fingolfin knew something was up. The dark glares almost everyone seemed to be sending the minstrel and the refusal of his brothers to even look at him only cemented that belief. He had noticed the absence of the younger twin as well, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the news that was given to their group. Fëanor and Amras were dead, Maedhros taken captive by Morgoth.

While Fingon most of all had been quick to accused Maglor of not caring for his brother when he’d confessed that he had forbidden anyone to attempt to rescue Maedhros, Fingolfin had simply met Maglor’s eyes and didn’t say anything. His brother’s son had clearly lost sleep over the decision and it also seemed to have gained him the dislike, if not the outright hatred of the entire camp.

Later, as Fingon had taken it upon himself to accuse Maglor of everything from wanting his brother to suffer to wanting the throne for himself, Fingolfin silenced his firstborn. “Macalaurë has made a harder decision than you know. He doesn’t want to lose anyone else and it’s quite likely that Maitimo’s last command to him was to keep their other brothers safe should anything go wrong.”

Fingolfin shook himself from his thoughts as another painfully loud clap of thunder shook the ground. With a frustrated growl, Fingolfin flew out of the bed and pulled a robe over his sleep clothes.

Barefoot, he walked down the hall, slipping past Fingon’s empty room. His eldest had been gone a week now. And Fingolfin knew exactly where he’d gone.

Shaking even more as the dark corridor was lit by a streak of lightning for a split second before fading away and leaving the hall again in darkness that felt more oppressive than it had before, Fingolfin pulled his robe tighter around his body before increasing his pace until he stood outside, looking up at the sky, blinking away droplets of rain.

"What did I do wrong, Fëanaro?" Fingolfin whispered, not sure why he was even talking at all.

"What went wrong?"

He flinched again as the thunder rumbled, unable to stop the childish whimper that bubbled up. “Fëan-” He started, but swallowed the plea, and sat down in the grass and bunched his legs up to his chest. He didn’t close his eyes, however and instead tilted his head back to continue watching the rain fall. It was strangely soothing; it always had been. Too long ago, Fëanor had taken him outside in the rain and lain down on the grass and shown him-

Again, Fingolfin shook his head to halt his train of thought. There was nothing for it. Fëanor was dead and no amount of daydreaming would bring him back.

"How ironic, Fëanaro." Fingolfin muttered, not caring that he was talking to a dead elf, "Our firstborns - so smitten with each other. Findekáno would follow Maitimo anywhere; just like us…" He drew off. "So ironic…" He whispered and was about to lie back when he heard a ‘thump’ and an eagle’s soft, but unmistakable cry.

His heart leapt in his chest and he jumped to his feet. For a few seconds, he forgot to breathe, intent on listening for any other sounds - anything - and just when he began to think he’d imagined it, there came the unmistakable “whoosh” of a large bird taking flight; almost (but not quite) masking the sound of someone stumbling.

Fingolfin searched the darkness for a shape, anything, the thunder and lightning driven far from his mind.

For a few heartbeats, there was nothing - no silhouette - and then, out of the rain a figure emerged, limping toward the door. A flash of lightning lit the night sky, revealing a dark-haired elf stumbling under the weight of the broken body wrapped in a torn cloak in his arms.

Fingolfin moved without thinking and he was standing in front of his son and sliding his arms under Maedhros. “Let me take him Findekáno.”

Fingon opened his mouth to try and refuse, but before he could speak, his knees buckled and he let go of the weight in his arms to fall to his trembling knees.

Fingolfin knelt before his eldest son and shifted his nephew’s all too light weight onto his right arm and shoulder before placing his left around his son.

"Are you alright, yonya?" Fingolfin whispered and Fingon shook his head weakly, but didn’t say anything.

Fingolfin didn’t press the matter as he saw both Fingon and Maedhros were covered in blood and he rose to his feet, grunting under his eldest nephew’s weight and wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulders. “Come on.” He murmured. “You need to sit down, if not lie down and sleep for a week.”

Fingon stubbornly shook his head as his father all but dragged him through the halls to his room. “Rus-” He had to pause to cough before continuing. “Russandol…I had to cut off his hand. I bound his hand as best I could, but my main concern was getting him out of Thangorodrim. I have to-” But he didn’t get any further before his father stopped him.

"I’ll see to Russandol, Káno. But I have to go get supplies and a healer." He shouldered open the door to Fingon’s rooms and slowly lowered Maedhros down on the bed.

Fëanor’s eldest groaned when his back came into contact with the sheets, but he didn’t wake.

Painstakingly slow; Fingolfin slid his arm from under Maedhros and wrapped it around Fingon, gently, but firmly, pushing him down to lay beside Maedhros.

"Don’t go anywhere." Fingolfin begged softly, and all but ran out of the room to find a healer.

His bare feet slapping against the crude tiles, he sent a quick prayer to someone - Varda, Manwë, Eru, Námo, Oromë - anyone that Maedhros would live and, finally reaching the healers’ quarters, he banged on the door. “Someone wake up and get out here!” He barely restrained himself from hollering and was shocked at how steady his voice sounded.

There was a crash from another room somewhere and it didn’t take long for Aredhel to come tearing down the hall, followed closely by Turgon, who was holding Idril.

"Atto, what’s wrong?" Aredhel demanded, eyes scanning her father’s mud (and blood) crusted robes. "Are you alright?"

Fingolfin nodded. “I’m fine, and so is your brother.” He stated tiredly, belatedly noticing that the rain had stopped, “It’s Nelyafinwë I’m worried about.” He mumbled as three healers came out of the rooms, watching their lord nervously.

Despite Turgon’s near-shouted “what!” (definitely waking any other members of the household that hadn’t previously been awakened), Fingolfin turned and led the three healers - and everyone else who had congregated in the hall - toward Fingon’s chambers.

When Fingolfin entered the bedchambers with only the healers, Aredhel, Turgon, and Idril in tow, Fingon had moved to a chair pulled up to Maedhros’ bedside and his head lay against his chest, eyes closed in exhausted slumber.

On the bed, Maedhros watched the group with half-slitted eyes; dull and pain-filled. Fingolfin regretfully shook his son’s shoulder as to wake him - not wanting Fingon to wake with a crick in his neck.

Fingon’s eyes shot open as he jolted awake. His eyes locked with Maedhros’ and the red-head offered a pathetically weak smile. “Hantanyel.” He whispered and began to cough, voice crackling with even that simple phrase.

The hacking seemed to break whatever spell had lain over the room, and the healers converged around the bed, checking over Maedhros; none able to suppress all their winces.

Maedhros closed his eyes and let them bind his wounds and study his wrist carefully, debating what way would be best to close the wound; too weak to do anything else.

Fingolfin didn’t know how many minutes had passed when Maedhros’ eyes suddenly shot open, and he winced before whispering. “Cana. I want to talk to Cana.”

The healers paused and looked at Fingolfin, who was aware of his children doing the same. He waved for them to continue their work with one hand, and the other prevented Fingon from rising to his feet.

"I’ll go fetch Macalaurë." He said, not loosening his grip. "I don’t want you moving an inch until I get back unless it’s to lie down." He waited until he was sure Fingon would do as he said before squeezing his son’s shoulder and turning to leave. Then, as an afterthought, he came back and bent over his nephew to place a kiss on his forehead. He met Maedhros’ dull - though not as dull as before - eyes and nodded once, some sort of understanding passing between them.

Fingolfin left his son’s room with his hands shaking and made his way through the small crowd that had gathered. Somehow, from somewhere, he found the resolve to shake off the questions sent his way and dissolve the gathering.

Tiredly, he pushed open the door to his bedchamber and closed it behind him, shedding himself of the robes and night clothes and replacing them with a simple tunic and leggings. He sat down on his still-mussed bed and pulled on his boots, buckling them down tightly and fastening a cloak around his shoulders. A dagger was strapped to his waist, but he chose to forego a sword. Light gloves were almost forgotten and he had to search for a moment to find them.

Now fully-dressed, he exited his chambers and then the house, making his way to the stables. A groom was already saddling his stallion and Fingolfin took the reins from the ellon with a grateful nod.

He swung into the saddle and kicked the horse into action.

* * *

The fëanorians’ encampment was silent and dark as Fingolfin rode toward it, but as soon as he could make out the structures, lamps began to spring up and by the time he dismounted in the courtyard, four of the five fëanorians were waiting for him. The only one missing was the one Fingolfin had come for.

"Where is Macalaurë?"

Curufin’s face twisted into a sneer upon hearing his brother’s name. “Why does it matter where he is?”

Fingolfin glared at his brother’s fifth son, but even to him it didn’t seem very intimidating; the exhaustion from so many sleepless nights creeping in.

"Where. Is. Macalaurë?" He repeated through gritted teeth. "I need to speak with him. It’s urgent."

Celegorm opened his mouth, a biting remark no doubt already on his tongue, but he was interrupted by Maglor, who chose that moment to make his appearance.

"I’m here uncle. What is so urgent that it could not wait till morning?"

Ignoring the dark looks being sent in his nephew’s direction, Fingolfin responded “Saddle a horse. I’m not telling you in front of your brothers.”

The dark attention was now focused on Fingolfin, but he ignored it, opting instead to watch Maglor’s face. His nephew looked exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically and it didn’t take any effort to get him to silently consent and move toward the stables; Fingolfin sending a glance dirty enough to surprise himself at the four brothers watching their elder retreat, before following Maglor.

Once they were safely out of earshot and Maglor was swinging into the saddle, the younger ellon sent his elder a worried glance. “Uncle, what’s wrong?”

Fingolfin couldn’t stop the ridiculous smile from breaking out onto his face, he really couldn’t. “Nothing’s wrong, Macalaurë.” He said as they made their way around Lake Mithrim. “Your brother wanted to talk to you and if I didn’t go, Findekáno would’ve tried to fetch you and probably ended up drowning himself.”

It took a moment for Maglor’s overly exhausted mind to process just exactly what Fingolfin had said and when it did, he sat up straight in the saddle and stared at his uncle. “What?” He sounded hopeful and desperate and regretful and afraid all at the same time.

"Russandol was asking for you when I left." Fingolfin watched Maglor closely for a few minutes and when he did speak up again, they had reached the settlement and were dismounting. "He told you to rein them in if something went wrong, did he not?"

Maglor looked at him, shocked, for a moment before nodding.

"And you never told anyone?"

Silently, Maglor shook his head and Fingolfin smiled sadly and pulled his nephew into an embrace, but didn’t say anything. Maglor stiffened, but let his uncle hug him without protest.

They stood there for a few minutes until Fingolfin pulled back and wrapped an arm around Maglor’s shoulders and lead him through the now-more-lit corridors until they came to Fingon’s chambers.

The room was mostly silent and as the two entered the sitting room, one of three healers - the only one in sight - looked up and stood. “His wounds have been stabilized m’lord. His arm has been stitched up. It will take years possibly, but he should recover.”

Fingolfin nodded his thanks to the elleth and she bowed her head first to him, than to Maglor before taking her leave of them.

Maglor looked at his uncle and swallowed before stepping into the bedchamber. Fingon had fallen asleep on the chair again, but no amount of shaking would rouse him. Maedhros, however, was more or less conscious and his eyes opened when Maglor and Fingolfin entered the room.

Maglor froze when he met Maedhros’ eyes and then choked back a sob at the sight his elder brother made and moved to kneel at his bedside.

"Russandol…" Maglor couldn’t force out anymore and Maedhros weakly lifted his remaining hand to stroke the side of his younger brother’s face.

"Cana…" Maedhros’ whisper was so faint that at first it seemed like Maglor had not heard it.

Than he buried his face into his older brother’s chest and began to weep. Maedhros’ face showed a wince that he didn’t give voice to and instead wrapped his left arm around Maglor, stroking his hair.

Maglor finally raised his head to look at Maedhros and the elder - weakened as he was - was sliding back into his well-known role of older brother as he studied the dark circles under Maglor’s eyes and said softly, sorrowfully, “You didn’t tell anyone did you?” Without waiting for a response, Maedhros weakly mumbled, “Idiot.”

Maglor sighed, but again didn’t say anything. Maedhros found the energy to roll his eyes and extend his arms toward his younger brother. “You. Come. Here. Sleep. Now.” He commanded, and however weak he sounded, the tone was not to be disobeyed.

Maglor was about to protest when Fingolfin - forgotten until now - picked him up almost effortlessly and placed him on the bed next to Maedhros, pulling off his boots.

Maedhros weakly, but protectively curled his left arm around Maglor and pressed a kiss onto his little brother’s forehead and Fingolfin smoothed back his hair.

"My horse-" Maglor halfheartedly tried to protest, but Fingolfin cut him off.

"I’ll check on him." He picked Fingon up from the chair and placed him down on his bed. Fingon shifted in his sleep and then snuggled closer to Maglor and Maedhros.

Fingolfin left the room with a smile on his face before Maglor could protest again and as he made his way to the stables, he cast a glance at the sky - now clear. “Hantanyel.” He whispered, before hurrying to his destination.

Once he had ensured that both horses were cared for, he made his way back to his quarters as Vása began to peak over the east horizon. He paused at the entrance to Fingon’s chambers, and stood there for a moment, watching his son and Fëanor’s two eldest sons sleep.

Fingolfin silently entered the room and pulled another blanket over the three sleeping figures and left them to their dreams.

He left the room as silently as he had entered it and continued on his way to his chambers.

When Fingolfin entered his room, he fought back a yawn and sat down on his bed. Had he truly been up all night? It seemed he had been as he briefly fought with another yawn before losing. He rubbed his eyes and reached down to unlace his boots before pulling his cloak off and falling back onto the bed and drifting to sleep - content with the knowledge that his son (as well as his nephew) was safe.

* * *

 

The landscape around him was cold and dark. He seemed to be alone, but he couldn’t be sure. Nothing was certain anymore. Fingolfin turned in a complete circle, but there was no light in any direction and he still couldn’t see anything.

There was a distant rumble that steadily grew louder and louder and accompanying it were the whispers and as the room grew loud enough to shake the surface upon which he stood, a hazy image of Fëanor appeared out of the darkness, faintly lighting his surroundings.

Fingolfin at first reached out to the figure, and then froze when he saw Fëanor’s features were twisted into an expression of hatred and suspicion.

The mere look was enough to send Fingolfin to his knees and he trembled as the shade advanced.

"You are nothing." ‘Fëanor’ hissed and the pure hatred in his disembodied voice was the last straw that flung Fingolfin’s head to the not-ground; lying before the ghostly figure of his elder half-brother.

"Look at you, the sniveling Vanya baby." ‘Fëanor’ sneered, and Fingolfin kept his gaze fixed firmly on the solid surface - whatever it was - beneath him. "Look at me!" ‘Fëanor’ snapped and Fingolfin raised his head, unable as always to deny the fiery spirit - world blurry from the tears of rejection gathering in his eyes.

'Fëanor' opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, an otherworldly fire lit their dark surroundings and the shade screeched in pain.

"Ava quetë!"

The not-Fëanor screamed, but the source of the blinding light and warmth in Fingolfin’s fëa strode between the two figures - Fingolfin on the ground and not-Fëanor kneeling and covering his eyes - and pulled the shade by the front of his robes up the level of his eyes.

"Get thee gone and take thy due place*." Fëanor spat at the dark creature before dropping it to the ground. It glowered at Fingolfin one last time before spitting at Fëanor’s feet and fading away.

With it faded away their oppressive surroundings bit by bit until the freezing darkness was replaced with a scene that Fingolfin remembered painfully well. He turned to his brother, noticing that the light emanating from him had faded, though the warmth encompassing Fingolfin’s fëa did not.

"Fëanaro…" Fingolfin stared in shock at the figure before him.

Fëanor smiled at his brother. “Hello Nolo.” His voice was still disembodied, but it was slowly fading into normal, and now it held warmth and kindness that it hadn’t held before.

"Fëa-" Fingolfin choked as he stared at his brother and it took a few minutes before he spoke again. "This is a dream," was what he finally said and Fëanor smiled again, this time sadder than before.

"Yes," he said "It is. But Irmo allowed me to speak with you on the reason that you should not have to suffer for my crimes."

Fingolfin felt his throat close up and he could feel tears starting to make their way down his cheeks.

Fëanor shook his head when he saw the tears. “Don’t cry for me, Nolo. You’re the one who has it worse right now. If anyone should be crying over anyone, I should be crying for you.”

The two brothers stood at least three paces away from each other, neither quite daring to bridge the gap.

Fingolfin swallowed back his tears and hesitantly took a step forward. “Toron…” He whispered, still hesitant.

"Filit." Fëanor said softly and took the final two paces to close the distance between them and pull Fingolfin into a hug.

Fingolfin collapsed against the unwavering figure of his brother and let the tears flow.

Fëanor pressed a kiss onto Fingolfin’s head. Running his hand through Fingolfin’s hair, he whispered, “Ánin apsenë, Nolo.”

Fingolfin clung to Fëanor for who knows how long and when he finally let go, Fëanor was greeted with a slap in the face.

"You idiot! What were you thinking? No, you weren’t thinking, were you? Do youknow what your sons, specifically your two eldest have been going through?”

Fëanor’s face filled with egret and he was silent until Fingolfin’s third sentence and then he spat out, “Do not think Morgoth kept me blind to Russandol’s plight before killing me! Do not think I would not suffer in his place if I could!”

Fingolfin froze when he realized that while Fëanor knew what Maedhros had been subjected to, he was not yet aware of his release.

"Fëanaro-"

"Do not think you can fix everything with your words, half-brother!" Fëanor snapped.

"Fëanaro, listen to me! Maitimo has been freed!"

Fëanor’s eyes widened and Fingolfin could see tears forming in them. “What?” He breathed.

"He has lost his right hand, but he is on his way to recovery."

Fëanor grabbed Fingolfin’s shoulder, desperate. “How?” he asked, “How is this possible?”

Fingolfin clasped Fëanor’s arm and held tightly. “Findekáno rescued him. Do not ask me for the details for I do not know them. My son has only just returned with yours in tow.”

Fëanor buried his face into Fingolfin’s hair and the younger wrapped his arms around the elder. “You said two eldest.” He mumbled into Fingolfin’s head, voice trembling, “What has happened to Macalaurë?”

"Maitimo told him to keep the rest of their people safe if something went wrong at Morgoth’s parley. That meant preventing anyone from trying to rescue him. When it did go wrong, Macalaurë followed his brother’s final order and forbade anyone from rescue attempts. His brothers - being unaware of just what had been commanded of Canafinwë - did not take that order well and it didn’t take long for them to sway the rest of the camp to their side."

Fingolfin could feel Fëanor’s eyes widening and widening as he put the pieces of what Fingolfin was saying together.

"Oh Cana-" Fëanor choked and didn’t say anything.

"I’m sorry." He finally whispered. "I’m so so sorry." And Fingolfin wasn’t sure who he was apologizing to.

Fëanor took a deep, shaky breath, and looked sadly at Fingolfin. “I’m a terrible person, aren’t I?”

Fingolfin shook his head. “You made a mistake, Fëa. And it may be that that mistake will change the fate of the world for the better.”

Fëanor snorted, but didn’t seem to have the heart to do anymore.

The two brothers watched each other in silence for a few minutes before either of them said anything. Fingolfin brushed Fëanor’s cheek with his hand and Fëanor’s mouth opened slowly, but he didn’t say anything.

The touch became more solid and Fingolfin brought their foreheads together. It took a moment for him to finally speak and when he did, it was barely audible.

"I miss you…" Fëanor’s glance went downward guiltily.

"I’m sorry…" he whispered.

Fingolfin sighed. “That’s no good now.” He responded. “You’re still dead.”

Fëanor looked like he was about to say something, but Fingolfin placed his thumb on the elder’s lip.

"Shh." He whispered, all the softer than before.

Fëanor’s eyes flicked downwards and then they locked onto Fingolfin’s.

They watched each other for barely a moment before Fingolfin removed his thumb and pressed his lips gently onto Fëanor’s.

The gesture was familiar; Fëanor leaned into it and closed his eyes.

Fingolfin’s hand snaked down Fëanor’s neck to join its brother around Fëanor’s waist. Even after they broke the kiss, the two remained entwined until Fëanor shifted slowly, sadly.

"Mauya nin avánië." He whispered regretfully and Fingolfin sighed.

"Look after my sons; please." Fëanor whispered and Fingolfin nodded.

"I will die before they come to harm," was his quiet response and Fëanor looked up at him, tears forming in his eyes.

"Thank you." He said and Fingolfin nodded.

"You’re welcome." he replied and as he finished the sentence, Fëanor’s form began to waver.

The two ellyn shared a sad smile and Fingolfin leaned forward, closing his eyes so as to not have to watch Fëanor fade away.

"Im gosta." Fingolfin whispered and he felt Fëanor touch his cheek and smile.

"I’ll always be at your side Nolo. You just won’t be able to see me for a while. One day, you will, and then we’ll be together."

Fingolfin felt a shiver run through his body at Fëanor’s grim words and almost asked how long Fëanor had known, but restrained himself and whispered “Tenna enta lúmë.”

Fëanor smiled even as his body faded away. “Tenna enta lúmë.”

"I’ll miss you." Fingolfin whispered, but there was no response and when he opened his eyes, Fëanor was gone.

 _/We’ll just be a story one day Nolofinwë/_  Fëanor’s once-again disembodied voice whispered.  _/And then forgotten…I don’t want to be forgotten/_

"We’re all stories in the end*, Fëanaro." Fingolfin whispered as the garden around faded as Fëanor had. "It’s okay."

There was no response again, but Fingolfin could feel Fëanor’s worry fade into peace.

He closed his eyes as the ground beneath him dissolved and he fell for a split second before jerking up suddenly, back in his own bed.

Fingolfin shook his head, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness from them.

As he rose to check on Maedhros, he caught a glimpse of the outside. The sun was rising and silhouetted against the ball of fire was a humanoid figure that reached out toward him.

 _Nolofinwë…_  ghosted across his mind; than silence and when Fingolfin blinked and looked again, it was gone.

A wry smile touched his chapped lips. “We’re all stories in the end.” He whispered, then moved to greet the day.

* * *

 _When my time comes  
_ _Forget the wrong that I’ve done  
_ _Help me leave behind some_  
_Reasons to be missed_  
_Don’t resent me_  
_And when you’re feeling empty_  
_Keep me in your memory_  
_Leave out all the rest_  
_Leave out all the rest_  
_Forgetting all the hurt inside_  
_You've learned to hide so well  
_ _Pretending someone else can come  
_ _And save me from myself  
_ _I can’t be who you are  
_ _I can’t be who you are_

Leave Out All the Rest - Linkin Park

**Author's Note:**

> Elvish Translations  
> Yonya: my son/boy, Literal: son  
> Atto: dad/daddy  
> Hantanyel: thank you, Literal: I thank you  
> Ellon: male (elf), Plural: ellyn  
> Elleth: female (elf)  
> Ava quetë!: be silent!, Literal: don’t speak!  
> Fëa: spirit  
> Toron: brother  
> Filit: [small] bird. Nickname  
> Ánin apsenë: forgive me  
> Mauya nin avánië: I need to go, Literal: I must leave  
> Im gosta: I’m afraid. This is S. because I couldn’t find it in Q.  
> Tenna enta lúmë: until that time  
> Vása - Heart of Fire; the name given to the Sun by the Noldor.
> 
> * - Quote comes from Doctor Who. I don’t own it.
> 
> Author’s Notes and Explanations:  
> A: Yes, I know that technically Fingolfin’s people wouldn’t reasonably have horses at this point, but let’s pretend.  
> B: To avoid confusion, all people are referred to by their Sindarin names outside of dialogue. In dialogue; Nolofinwë is Fingolfin (Nolo), Fëanaro is Fëanor (Fëa), Macalaurë, Canafinwë (Cana) are Maglor, Russandol, Nelyafinwë, Maitimo are Maedhros.  
> C: Fëanor’s “get thee gone and take thy due place” is taken directly from the Silmarillion and is supposed to be the character being ironic. Basically, the “not-Fëanor” that is putting Fingolfin down is the darkness in Fëanor’s mind - the insanity if you will - (concept explored in “This is What I Know”) and what caused him to go insane, which brought about a whole mess of trouble. The words It used to start the whole problem were - among other things - ‘get thee gone and take thy due place.’ So Fëanor is turning this around, and facing his insanity and saying “you want to separate me and Fingolfin, haha screw you, this is what I say to that. I’ll use your own words against you.”  
> D: Irmo is the Vala (or Lord) of dreams. Among other things. But that’s what Fëanor means.


End file.
